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‘It’s not fair, you know? I think I’m just now starting to figure out how to live my life.’

Jerry Vogel, A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood

I have cancer.

Specifically, colon cancer.

Similar to what my father had.

I found out officially on the evening of May 28th when the biopsy results became available but I knew, in my heart of hearts what it was, at least a week before.

I knew because I witnessed everything that happened to my pops when he battled cancer a second time when the cancer reoccurred some 20 odd years later in the same spot.

I could tell from how the doctors were acting. To the words they used. The images they got from the colonoscopy. How I felt – everything. I simply knew.

The night before I finally went to the hospital, I’d written the beginnings of a poem. It’s called, ‘If I Die Tonight’.

I’d written it cos I didn’t want anything to be left ‘unsaid’. I tried, to the best of my abilities, to be as succinct as possible and capture what I wanted to capture at what felt like a near end. Cos… It felt like I was at another near end.

The feeling of near end was brought about by my severe anemia. I knew my hemoglobin levels where at a low again but… You know… Stubborn me. Wouldn’t accept defeat.

My stomach pains, which had gotten worse weeks prior, didn’t help at all. I felt stinging, tearing pains in parts of my stomach. Pain that was something else. Pain that would knock the wind out of me.

Not exactly nice when you’re already low on oxygen as a human being.

And so on May 18th, The Love brought me to the hospital. To his great relief cos I’d finally stopped being all stubborn about getting checked and, also, to his great frustration cos it always takes near-death to get me to agree about going to the hospital.

[See, I’m the one who doesn’t want to be checked. I grew up a sickly kid who frequented hospitals. This is where the stubbornness and aversion towards hospitals and doctors came from: I’d seen / experienced enough of them as a kid to last me a lifetime.]

We got there. Went for the ER. Covid-19 precautions and all. I started to relax when they gave me oxygen, my official new favourite thing in the world. Then the doctors started checking me and the tests started happening.

The first few days meant putting in as much blood as they could in me cos my anemia had gotten to an all time low. Those days also meant me having to go through rigorous tests to try and figure out what was happening to my stomach.

It wasn’t until the 4th day when I got to have my colonoscopy. I was asleep the whole time but when I’d woken up, I saw the food the doctors had requested for me had changed to soft food. Curious. But I wasn’t too bothered. More annoyed that I couldn’t have what my niece would categorise as ‘happy food’ (food that makes you feel… Well… Happy to be alive and all that).

Doctors came and tried to skate around what they saw in my colon during the colonoscopy but… They weren’t fooling me.

That evening I noticed my stomach had bloated out. When I’d gotten admitted, my stomach had been flat except for that part that had pain.

That night it all clicked.

That night I knew.

A week before the biopsy results came out.

I knew.

I’ve been around this. I knew.

That night, I told The Love what I knew it to be. We had a moment. What’s weird is… I wasn’t emotional over it.

I was stuck on the term one of the residents used when trying to soften the blow. He’d started by asking if we had cancer in the family. This is always tricky cos… Where do we even start? My pops? My sister? My cousins? My uncles? My aunt? Then he said that there’s a thing called, ‘Genetic mirroring’. And I went, ‘Yeah… My father had it the first time when he was around my age’.

I was then informed I’d need to undergo surgery and then, ‘if’ malignant, chemotherapy.

The day after all this, billing had called to inform us we’d already maxed out my insurance coverage. My insurance won’t renew until October.

Mad, isn’t it?

I was hit with the ridiculous realisation of how much mortality lies on what one can afford. I know money doesn’t solve all things but at least you get a good shot at everything.

The Love kept telling me not to get broken down by the finances. That it shouldn’t be my focus. My focus should be mentally preparing myself for the surgery and chemotherapy when we’ve put up the money.

The Love and my sister had asked if I was ready to go through surgery. My genuine answer was always, ‘I think I am… But my adult brain understands the whole financial parts of it’.

The thing is, my father survived his first run in with colon cancer because he had incredible insurance where he was working. They covered everything. All he had to focus on was his reason for living: his family.

Since we’d maxed out the insurance coverage, I got scheduled for discharge. However, we’d gotten over the coverage so much we didn’t have the cash to cover the rest… It was mad.

I cried more over the financial stuff than I did over the cancer – is that weird? Cos… That’s what happened.

I ended up spending an extra week in the hospital. Not needed there anymore but, everyday, incurring charges cos we couldn’t leave due to the overage. Again, it was mad.

This meant I was still in the hospital the day the biopsy results came out.

On that evening of May 28th, the resident who’d brought up ‘genetic mirroring’ confirmed it: I have colon cancer.

I’m not going to lie. I cried a lot after the resident left. It hits different when it gets confirmed.

That night, I didn’t tell anyone about it except The Love. I cried some more. He encouraged me to focus on the things we can do. Not to dwell on the problem but to find a solution.

He told me to not give up. That I was and am loved.

We finally got to put up enough to get me out of the hospital and left on May 31st.

I want to highlight that we got to put up the money with A LOT of help from our friends and family.

This comes on the heels of me feeling as if I didn’t have anyone except The Love and family. Not that I was ever made to feel that way but I guess you could say this is the downside of being such an introvert like I am. You’re involved but not really. You have friends but also still feel like you don’t want to bother or burden them.

And yet, there they were. People who care about me. Offering what they could. Not only financial help but, more importantly, comfort.

I will never be able to thank them enough for what they’ve done.

Am I ready to die?

Honestly? I don’t mind. To quote my father after he was told he’d only have 4-6months to live when his cancer reoccurred, he said, ‘That’s life’.

That’s life.

Death is part of life.

But goddammit – I still want to live.

There’s still so much more to do. So much more to live for. So many places to explore. So many different delicacies to taste. So many more memories to make.

I still have so many songs, stories, poems to write. They may not be good but dammit, they’re mine.

I can’t and I won’t go with all of these weird, beautiful ideas still living inside me.

For now, I have to chill. Behave. Eat only soft food. While we put up the money for the surgery and chemotherapy and / or wait for my insurance to renew. Whichever comes around first.

I have cancer.

Specifically, colon cancer.

Like my father did. I will fight this. I will survive this.

Windowsill is the horizontal structure or surface at the bottom of a window. Windowsills serve to structurally support and hold the window in place. The exterior portion of a windowsill provides a mechanism for shedding rainwater away from the wall at the window opening.